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 Posting a reply to post #19585

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19585 No.19585
Autosaged?! I trow not!

Original thread: >>17853

75 posts omitted. Last shown. Expand all images


Also daw's and also perv's


dat panty

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large bulge + thigh-harness-holster = FAP


The holster thing! gaaahhhhhh I love that thing forever. Combined with briefs and his bedroom eyes, this is amazing. fff Happy trail.

Were'd all the writefags go? Been a while since one posted.

Also, bump for this prompt

Every Fucking Time

It was the twentieth truck that really set him off. Before, it was all a hilariously cruel joke that Tallahassee would never get his Twinkie. Sure, once at Pacific Playland, but that didn’t make up for the fact that four months was too long to go without spongey yellow deliciousness. And the trucks were literally littered over the burnt, bloody highways, for some reason, so temptation and failed promises were great and many.

So the twentieth truck. It was more of a gag, really, because Columbus and Wichita had checked out half an hour before and were disappointed to discover more Snoballs. Every fucking time. Columbus enjoyed coconut, but this was getting ridiculous. To stir up a little life in the somber foursome of survivors, Columbus and Wichita decided not to tell Tallahassee about the location or contents of this truck. As such, the man was more than thrilled with this find.

But he was furious when the cushy, pink, chocolate-coconut treats poured out instead of logs of sponge and cream.

That’s how Columbus found himself slammed in the back of the truck with an enraged redneck on top of him, shaking and swearing and screaming at him like it was his fucking fault. Columbus went limp—his only method of defense—as Tallahassee took out his rage on him. His head snapped round hard when Tallahassee all but bitch slapped him, the resulting pain leaving him stunned and unresponsive for too long for Tallahassee to handle. Columbus was shaken again but with an edge of hysteria behind it—Tallahassee was worried, God bless him. Muttering frantic bargains with God if he didn’t kill the kid, God, fuck, why did I, why did I—

“Ow, ow, ow,” Columbus whined, finally struggling when he came to. Tallahassee stopped shaking him, sighed relief and praised his lucky stars that Columbus’ neck hadn’t broken.

“I’m not nearly that fragile,” he muttered, blushing as Tallahassee’s hands brushed over his stomach, hips, chest, wouldn’t stop anywhere for too long. Columbus felt his eyes flutter shut with Tallahassee’s mouth on his throat and his hands pulling his too-big jeans down. There was little time for pleasantries or what was what, so Columbus had to make do with a slightly pushed up shirt and mostly pulled off pants. He had to deal with his pants hanging off one leg and his briefs somewhere on his mid thighs while Tallahassee sucked hard on his neck where it wouldn’t show and wiggled spit-slicked fingers way too deep inside of him and he shouldn’t be moaning but—

“Oh God,” He choked, head thrown back and hands on Tallahassee’s shoulders. Snoballs crinkled in their wrappers beneath his head, mixing with Columbus’ desperate and open-mouthed gasps as he fucked himself on Tallahassee’s hand. Not fair, the man should be inside of him; Columbus shook his head forcefully no and pushed Tallahassee’s hand away and out.

“C’mon, fuck me,” Columbus gasped, red-faced and half-crazy from the danger of being fucked in the back of a Hostess truck. He stopped, reflecting on this odd situation, but forgot it all when he felt Tallahassee pulling him into his lap and kissing him hard enough to split his lip, but the good kind of pain that made Columbus wrap his arms around Tallahassee’s shoulders and ride him hard and deep.

It didn’t, couldn’t, last too long. Half a dozen sloppy, sucking kisses and haphazard thrusts pushed Columbus over the edge. He bit hard on the back of his hand to stay silent; half-moon teeth marks left behind and welling up with blood. Tallahassee grunted quietly as he came—no big shout or snarl, just how Columbus would prefer it. But it was years before either man could distangle himself and leave the musky, sweaty truck that housed their solitude. Columbus clung, desperate and aching, until he could move.

Both dressed and left the van. Columbus felt a Snoball pelt the back of his head but didn’t turn to pick it up.

Fucking Snoballs.


:D yay it isn't dead yet.

That said that was pretty hot thanks!

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You writefags are awesome. Just thought you should know.

Short and hot. nnnngghh gonna read it again.

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Yes indeed, more please

omg what!!? wha

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Sorry for the repost, but look! It's better quality and has extra gay stuck in there.

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Just some gen crap. I haven't been drawing much lately, but I have some nice ideas. Don't worry guys. It's coming.

Yay moar!

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I promised more. Here is more! Now to work on another.

Oh GDI I was going to let you guys know about the Zombieland twitters I found with that last drawing.

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Just when you thought you were safe


That's perfect. Oh gosh <3

I love Tallahassee's face.

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I'll just leave this here.

In tonights performance, the part of Brooklyn will be played by Michael Cera. Enjoy.

The Unexpected Consequences of Fucking Brooklyn

Surviving in Zombieland is hard enough without worrying about getting laid. I usually don’t. But after a while, a guy gets… well, he gets. Backed up. And I never understood that as thoroughly as I do now; constantly half-hard and unable to get these fucking thoughts from my head. Everyone’s entitled to fantasizing, I get that, but this is nuts. This is just plain ridiculous. Just looking at Tallahassee is enough for me to lose my fucking mind. It’s ridiculous.

The only good thing about this is that Brooklyn seems to share my affliction. All those awkward touches between the two of us should be some sort of flirtation, right? Not exactly conventional, but we never had a chance for conventionality. We met him in the middle of a town-spread fire and had to save him from suffocating. Asthma. We could only be so lucky.

Brooklyn is thin and reminds me of a bird; an awkward, soft set, blond bird with huge blue eyes. He mostly squeaks when he talks, but that isn’t a lot anyway. I mean, besides bed-talk. He talks a lot then, but it’s mostly just small complements. Little things. I don’t do much better than that; mostly focusing on how in Hell we’re going to get away with fucking when Tallahassee is but a thin wall from us. Brooklyn’s quiet enough, even with his hiccups of complements and tiny swears, but we fumble around messily, barely tearing off clothes before we try and kiss again, but fuck shit, that was his chin, elbow in my side, awkward squishing against each other before we stop and—

“Columbus,” Brooklyn pants, high and whiney, sitting up, “This is ridiculous.”

“Sh-shut up,” Columbus doesn’t fair much better, sitting back and trying to catch his breath from their awkward skirmish.

“No, look,” Brooklyn pushes himself up from his elbows, “You—“

“I know what I’m doing!” Columbus bites and shoves Brooklyn back on the bed. He’s hot and bothered, briefs tented almost painfully, relief prolonged for far too long to allow for rational thought now. He smashes his lips to Brooklyn’s, teeth clacking loudly, Brooklyn yelping. Columbus grinds meaningfully down against him and they both moan, finally, and forget just how thin the walls of this motel happen to be.

Brooklyn doesn’t have a choice in this; Columbus guides his hands to his ass and makes him squeeze. Brooklyn bucks hard, breaking the kiss and trying to reason with him. He wants to be the good guy.

“Columbus! Look, look, we don’t—“

“Stop talking,” Columbus interrupts. His hands are shaking when they begin to pull his briefs off, down his thighs. He wishes he never wore underwear; because of it, he has to get off of Brooklyn and kick them down as fast as he can before Brooklyn tries to reason with him again. If he didn’t need to have his brains fucked out, he swears he would just roll Brooklyn over and shut him up with a very firm fuck. As it is, he’s dying to bottom, even if it means bottoming from the top.

Thankfully, Brooklyn has given up on complaining and accepts Columbus, kissing with purpose and pushing his body to Columbus’. Ohio moans softly, arm wrapped around Brooklyn’s waist, rutting messily against him and groaning when their legs tangle and he ends up grinding down against his thigh.

“Oh, shit!” Brooklyn squeaks again, breathless. Columbus bites his neck, groaning pathetically and rolling them over so he’s on Brooklyn’s lap again.

“Damn it,” Columbus practically growls, “We don’t have any lube…”

“Or condoms,” Brooklyn rubs the back of his hand over his cheek. Columbus shrugs.

“I’m… well, a virgin. So.”

“Same,” Brooklyn chuckles awkwardly. His hand curls against the side of his head, almost aloof with his awkward smile. There is a small moment between them, when Columbus wishes he had something better to say than fireflies or what he would call sage advice, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, the door opens.

Just then, Columbus realizes it’s almost 4 am.

Tallahassee is angry.

Tallahassee is tired.

Neither boy can speak—embarrassed and terrified—but then Tallahassee stomps over to the bed so they can both see the dark circles under his eyes and appreciate the fact that he’s sacrificing his precious few hours of sleep so the two of them will shut up. Tallahassee says all of this barely inches from Columbus’ face before shoving him off of Brooklyn and crawling on the bed. It’s then when Columbus notices that Tallahassee’s shirt is long gone and wonders if he always sleeps like that; he’s too distracted with these thoughts to prepare for Tallahassee’s mouth on his neck and suddenly being pulled into his lap, and he yelps like a bitch when it happens. Past that, he can’t help but moan and hold on tight and rock against him.

“You bitches are so fucking girly, I’m surprised either of you got it up,” Tallahassee growls when he pulls away from Columbus’ neck and narrowly avoids a kiss, “Uh-uh.”

“But,” Columbus pants, so hard he can barely think, he just wants to kiss and be fucked by Tallahassee until his brain explodes.

Tallahassee glares hard and spins him around until he’s on his hands and knees, watching the window on the other wall. He can see Brooklyn is his peripheral; he’s watching them with no small amount of lust nor awe and tentatively stroking himself to the sight. Columbus jolts when he feels fingers push into him, but it isn’t long before he’s rocking back as hard as he can on them and panting short yelps when the fingers spread him just right. For the good of his sanity, Columbus barely realizes the transition between being finger fucked and actually being fucked by Tallahassee—when the fuck did he get hard?

“Princess,” Tallahassee grinds out, motioning to Brooklyn, “Get your skinny ass over here.”

Columbus watches him crawl over awkwardly, not quite sure how to be in this situation, but fair enough, Columbus is new at this too. Tallahassee seems to have a handle on it, which is scary, but Columbus forgets to care when he forces Brooklyn to kiss Columbus and starts fucking him hard. The kiss deepens when Columbus leans back against Tallahassee—new angle—and pulls Brooklyn with him. Brooklyn moans, tongue flicking over Columbus’ mouth, his hand fumbling to take a hold of him and stroke him, because Tallahassee had said so.

“C’mon, Ohio, don’t be so fuckin—“ Tallahassee thrusts hard to make his point, “Selfish.”

He decides that it’s only fair and begins jerking Brooklyn off harder than he means to. Before he knows it, Brooklyn is bucking against his hand, short whines filling his mouth, and Columbus realizes that there seems to be another hand on his dick besides Brooklyn’s. He breaks the kiss, looking down and seeing that Tallahassee’s hand had joined.

“Fuck!” Columbus just barely manages to shout before his body seizes, his hips buck hard, and he comes over Brooklyn and Tallahassee’s hands.

He’s inches from passing out, so Tallahassee takes over. One arm secures Columbus’ hips before really fucking him as hard as he can, the other hand jerking Brooklyn until he comes, shouting with a broken voice. Tallahassee eventually finishes off, groaning so low that it’s nearly a growl, and Columbus thinks he might come again, just from that. He doesn’t but he wishes he could.

He wakes up the next morning naked and holding onto Brooklyn with one arm looped behind his neck. Brooklyn drools in his sleep. Columbus licks his lips, smiles, and sits up. Brooklyn rolls away while Columbus grabs his briefs and leaves for Tallahassee’s room.

“Hey,” He pokes his head in the door, only greeted by Tallahassee hissing.

“Get out.”

“Thanks for last night,” he ventures closer, biting back a grin at the sight of a well and truly fucked Tallahassee trying to sleep; ass in the air, pillow over his head, hands clenching on pillows or sheets.

“Get out.”

“I’m just glad that it was you,” Columbus shrugs, “Preferred to lose it that way.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“And you’ve got a great dick,” he bites his lip, grinning too wide from messing with Florida.

“Thank you and get the fuck out.”

“And I was wondering if you could do it again.”

No. Get the fuck out.”

“Blow job?”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Hand job.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“… Tallahassee.”

“Get the f—“ Tallahassee jolts hard when he feels the hand smack across his ass, but Columbus sprints out too fast before he can even get mad. Tallahassee resigns to ignore it and sleep.

Pay back later.


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Ungh. That's fucking hot.


The thought of Tallahassee having to travel with the two biggest woobies ever makes me laugh so hard. Also, unf. So hot.

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Happy (late) Valentines Day~


/r/ing a sequel with Tallahassee giving Columbus a heart-shaped box... full of zombie bits.


Late but thank you for that.
Now i'm spamming them with my nonsense XD

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Autocomplete is my best friend

Hey bros I wrote a fic.

Title: A Twinkie that Needs More Filling
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tallahassee/Columbus
Warnings: Slight weight gain on Columbus' part. Nothing major.
Word Count: 3400
Summary: Tallahassee softens Columbus up for his own dastardly purposes.

awww, old thread is no longer there. ):


Workin' on it! :D

Rofl! What the Doctor didn't know, was the Master wrote that.


It really amuses me that you responded to the wrong thread

would anyone mind reposting stuff they might have from the old thread since its inaccessible now?

Title: Nut Up Or Shut Up
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tallahassee/Columbus
Warnings: Post-Zombie apocalypse, character death, written like a letter
Word Count: 374

It’s almost all the way back to normal now. It’s almost like none of that bullshit actually happened. The girls come over every now and then. They usually just call. Little Rock is growing into a fine young lady. Wichita is engaged to some guy. Their wedding is in a few months. She asked me to give her away. Guess I will, considerin’ I’m the closest thing to a father she has now.

I found a little place in bumfuck nowhere Pensacola, Florida. Didn’t feel right settling in Tallahassee after everything started going normal again. Yeah, I still go by Tallahassee. Fuck the weird looks I get. My old name just doesn’t fit anymore.

I look at that stupid scrapbook you made after you found that Polaroid camera sometimes. Back when Zombieland was in full swing. I’ve added a few more pictures. The new house, the girls. Stupid little things you would take pictures of. Little rock gave me that video she shot with the video camera she found. I thought it was idiotic to take video of shit in Zombieland. I mean, who was gonna watch it? Kinda glad she did in the end. I get to see your dumb face and listen to you babble like you do did do. It’s nice.

Oh, there’s a new addition to the house. I was heading out for groceries one day when I noticed this cat curled up on top of one of my truck’s tires. I must have scared him because the motherfucker scratched my hand all to hell and ran off. Got back to the house an hour later and he was hanging around on the porch. I got him to come inside after offering food and shit like that. So yeah, I got a cat now. He’s real jumpy and nervous. Reminds me of you. Named him Columbus. He likes to sleep on my chest at night and loves belly rubs.

It helps, having him around, as stupid as that sounds. I’m just glad not to be alone, I guess. The house is small, but it feels huge sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night and thinking of before you…

I miss you, but hey, nut up or shut up, right?

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i think this mighta been based off the shit going on with the character twitters

grabbed from piratehatter @ deviantart

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hey, this isn't mine, but I found this in rule 34 and this thread needs to not die. >.<

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in case this hasn't been posted yet
(I wasn't here for the first one, unfortunately.)

bumping because i finally saw this movie. anyone have stuff from the first thread they'd like to repost?

or hey, new stuff, new stuff would be rad. humphrey, puks, beat, you guys still around?

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Who is this I spy?

(I know it's a bullshit pop-media thing, but the thought is something mighty tasty.)

Still around. Rewatched the movie finally. And I think somewhere I have a half-written fic... All the oldstuff is writefaggotry though and it's all on the LJ so IDK if I should repost or not? If so then I can.

Please re-post! In all these years I still can't figure out how to navigate LJ.

And guess who found a fic she never posted to LJ... I haven't re-read this all the way through because I think it might be awful...

“You know uh, you never answered that question.”

“Kid, what are you talking about,” Tallahassee started laughing almost as soon as they started drinking, and he can’t seem to stop. Probably because Columbus is making a damn fool of himself. He’s not the best orator when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he starts sentences in the middle and usually has more pauses and ums inserted in them than actual words. It’s like he’s verbally creating a ransom note, takes awhile for him to find the right words in the magazine and they’re not all the same font or size or color.

“The one about, uh, you know. When we were in the truck, it was like, boots, and then you never answered.”

Tallahassee reaches across, grabs the bottle currently living in Columbus’s fist and takes it away, nominally to down some of it, but mostly because he thinks the kid might die of alcohol poisoning if he keeps it up. Messy, that. Not really something that Tallahassee was aiming for when they stumbled upon the bottles in the trunk of a car, old and expensive and someone wanted to save them apparently more than they had wanted to save their own lives. Tallahassee had laughed, a little evilly, and hoisted the box into the back of their own car, Columbus pretending to be exasperated but smiling that little smile that seemed to accompany most of Tallahassee’s unique behaviors.

“I still don’t have any idea what yer talkin’ about.”

“Yes you do! Yes you do it was, you know,” he waved his hands around wildly and nearly fell off the bench. Drinking in the park made Tallahassee feel like he was 15 but it was there and so they’d stopped, the truck still running to give them enough light to see by and a row of bottles lined up like they were going into battle, “When you asked me about when the last time I had made fucking and then I lied, you remember. And then even though I lied so good you never answered.”

Tallahassee laughed again, shoulders shaking and one hand pulled up to his forehead as he figured out exactly what the fuck Columbus was trying to get at. God, he really just did say made fucking. No whiskey for Columbus, remember that for the future.

“Oh man, really? Haha, brother, you are a weird sonovabitch when you’re drunk. Actually you’re pretty fuckin’ weird most of the time.”

“That’s not an answer. It’s not fair because,” points his finger then accusing, “You made me answer and I did so it’s like, Indian Giving. Actually that’s not a nice thing to say, I guess, judging a whole race of people based on something that never actually happened?”

Tallahassee has his hand that’s not holding the bottle covering his mouth now, trying to side the smile, except that the corners of his eyes are crinkling and he’s letting little huffing noises out of his nose so it’s not all that successful.

“I’m not racist though, it’s just a thing that, uh, people say. A saying. Anyway, yeah, still, you’re like, never answered.”

Chuckles again, the hand slides down his face and Tallahassee can’t believe he’s actually going to answer, but alcohol makes him a bit maudlin, so he does, “Awhile. Since before Buck was born. And anyway, I only asked you because you was so wound up. Explains a lot.”

Columbus is quiet for a moment, has this real thoughtful look on his face, the one where he does that pouting thing with his mouth. Tallahassee takes this time of unexpected silence and takes a deep drink out of the bottle again. Of course that’s the exact time that Columbus decides to hope his goddamn mouth again.

“Do you want to?”

And Tallahassee chokes, hand flying back up to his face as he tries to get the bottle settled down without it falling over, a harder task with the burn of liquor in his throat and coming up his nose, making his eyes water as he coughs.


Columbus asks again, slower and louder like Tallahassee actually didn’t hear him, “Do. You. Want. To?”

“I heard you the first time, you,” takes time to cough again, grinds the back of his hand into his eye, “what the hell kind of question is that?”

“A pertinent one,” and Tallahassee is giving him this look because did the kid really just manage the word pertinent with what must be half a gallon of assorted liquor in his body?

“It’s a stupid question.”

“Nu-uh,” completely undermines his earlier eloquence with a single, childish noise, “because if you do then we can.”

“We can what?”

“You know,” and Columbus’s voice gets all low and conspiratorial, and Tallahassee has to lean forward because Columbus is too, and the two of them started doing shit like this, this tendency to be on something like a similar wavelength ages ago, “make love.”

And Tallahassee pushes himself back so hard he actually does fall off the bench, makes it look like he jumped, of course, because unlike Columbus he’s not an uncoordinated idiot. Scrambles a few extra feet backwards in case the kid is contagious or something.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” edge of hysteria.

“You know!” Columbus is so out of it he’s completely lost sight of context, “if you want to we can do it!”

“Boy, do you even know what the hell you’re talking about?” and Tallahassee’s voice is the edge of strangled because goddamnit. Just… goddamnit.

“Yeah! Going twenty toes or something to Jesus, sorry, I don’t remember them all, you know a lot of innuendo, and did you know that? Like, I thought I knew some but man.”

“Kid, you are drunk.”


“You are drunk and you are not thinking straight and you’ve got to be ten kinds of too fucking drunk if you think I’m gonna have this conversation with you.”

“But we’re already having this conversation,” and his fingers are twined together and shifting against each other on the top of the table and Tallahassee is watching them and wishing like hell he could stop.

“No, we’re not. You’re going to crawl into the back of that big fucking truck right now, and you’re going to sleep it off, you understand?”

“Is that a no then?”

“Columbus,” an edge of a threat and the kid’s on his feet pretty quick, wobbling slightly.

“Okay okay!” and makes his way to the truck surprisingly unaided.

The click of the door closing and Tallahassee starts breathing again, enough to swear under his breath. Walks back to the bottles on the table and starts to put them back in the box. Hand wraps around the whiskey bottle and throws it, hard, against a tree. Hops up on the table in one smooth move and kicks the shit out of the remaining, unopened liquor and swears roughly, booze and glass littering the tabletop and clinging to his boots. Knows he’s too goddamn drunk for this shit when he flops back down onto the bench and leans back against the table, looking up at the sky and breathing, deep and even and trying to get himself back under control.

“Fucking kid,” he growls, because he doesn’t want to have to have this fucking internal battle at all. Fucking kid who screws up everything. Shoulda kicked him out. Goddamnit, fucking hands.

Finally gets himself mostly back under control, drags his hand across his face a last time, steeling himself for battle before he gets up and heads back to the truck, opens the driver’s door and glances into the rearview mirror where, thankfully, the kid is sleeping, on his side and curled into the back of the seat, leather stuck to his face. Huffs out a breath before closing his own door quickly and quietly, ready to be back on the road. Glad there’s no cops, for once, because he’s driving pretty drunk. Actually has to take it slow.

The next morning Columbus is hung-over like no one’s business, all headaches and puffy red eyes and pale skin. Looks like a zombie and sounds like one, groaning because it’s a bright and beautiful sunny day. And Tallahassee’s feeling vindictive so he’s got the stereo cranked and is singing loudly and lets the kid fucking bear it for half an hour before he pulls over at a corner store, goes in with a shotgun because it’s louder and kills the two zombies inside with ease. Columbus stumbles around to the pain pills and bread and water and all the other things he hopes will fix the situation. Tallahassee remarks on all the grossest food in the store, they’ve got canned meat and nacho cheese and shit son, are those little greasy frozen sausages still good.

“Very funny, haha, I get it, stupid lightweight kid,” Columbus mumbles, a bit annoyed but mostly just hurting.

“Damn right stupid kid.”

“You know it wasn’t my idea.”

“What?” and Tallahassee wishes he could get rid of the hint of panic in the question. But Columbus is too hung over to catch it anyway.

“Getting drunk was your idea, not mine. I am just along for the ride, Santo Panjowhatever, you know.”

“Shut up and take your damn pills you whiney little bitch. You’re going to have to drive soon.”



And Columbus ends up driving from just afternoon until after dark, by noon he’s mostly better, and by the time Tallahassee wakes up at sunset he seem just fine, humming under his breath.

“Feeling better princess?”

“No thanks to your snoring, but yeah.”

Tallahassee laughs, a couple of short syllables. Shifts upright in the seat and cricks his neck. Thinks of how much he misses beds, for a minute.

“You know,” the kid’s still looking at the road, seems calm enough except that his grip on the steering wheel is tight, “You still never answered.”

“Huh?” and Tallahassee has genuinely put it out of his mind. He was pretty drunk and it’s been a day and he’s had some sleep and it is barely a memory anymore.

“You never answered,” and Columbus licks his lips quickly, teeth clinging to the lower one for a second, nervous this time and all of a sudden Tallahassee gets it.

“You were drunk.”

“I’m not drunk now.”


“And I’m not a kid,” and he’s got this look on his face, a line between his eyebrows and his lips turned down and he’s upset, “I just. I don’t know, I just-“

“Kid - Columbus, if you can’t even say it then you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sighs, rubs his face, tries to get his head straight because he just woke up and it’s too early for this.

And Columbus shoots him a quick look out of the corner of his eye, re-tightens his hands on the steering wheel and misses his liquid courage, “Uhm. I, I like you. Like, I don’t really get it but whatever, it’s there, and if you wanted to, I don’t know, lower your standards I wouldn’t object. Fuck, uh, I would be pretty happy, actually.”

Lower my standards?

And then Columbus is looking away again, face turned just far enough away from him to be avoiding. Eyes flicking back and forth between the road and the not-quite-magnificent view out of the driver’s side window.

And Tallahassee’s shifting in his seat, sitting straighter and giving Columbus this dangerous look, “So what, you think you’re not good enough for me?”

“Ha, I have no illusions of, you know, how I am. I just, I don’t know.”

“Kid there’s something wrong with you, you are fucking all kinds of nuts, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” an edge of bitterness.

“You honestly think I’m going to give you a pity-fuck?”

And the words hurt more than Columbus thought they would, because Tallahassee can make anything sound as bad as possible.

“Stop the fucking truck.”

And he does because he’s learned that what Tallahassee says, goes. Pulls over and puts the car in park, expects to be thrown out and Tallahassee reaches over and turns the keys, and now it’s so fucking quiet you could hear a pin drop, or at least the slightly uneven breathing of the both of them.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is up with your self-e-fucking-steem, but I don’t fuck people I don’t like,” Tallahassee growls, the dangerousness is still there, just under the surface.

And Columbus looks like he might cry, like he’s taking these words to heart and they hurt. Which is probably why he flinches when Tallahassee gets a handful of the kid’s shirt, the collar and cotton, and moves in until he’s got one knee on the center console and is leaning over the kid, whose eyes are wide and a little panicked, until he can feel his breath on his face. Columbus is making what Tallahassee has come to think of as the kicked-puppy face, which is just, god, unfair, braces the hand that isn’t tangled in fabric against the driver’s side window and kisses him. It’s a little awkward, he doesn’t have a hand free to guide Columbus’s face to where it belongs, and it’s been a long time since he’s done thing, and it’s not like the kid’s had much practice. Can feel his eyelashes against his face, when the kid’s eyes finally drift closed, when he pushes back slightly with this broken little noise.

And Tallahassee’s hand untangles from the shirt and slips behind the kid’s neck to pull him a little closer, and Columbus’s hands move, finally, from lying uselessly on his lap to wrapping around Tallahassee’s arm and back. Is surprised when the kid moves against him and slides his tongue, shy, against Tallahassee’s mouth, which makes him growl, because god, he wasn’t really expecting that, and press further in, pushing and claiming and occasionally bumping teeth because it’s still a little awkward. Pulls on the kid’s lower lip slightly when he leans back again to breathe. Columbus is looking at him, all shocked and pupils blown and breathless, which is a good look on him. Tallahassee watches the kid, the rise and fall of his chest and settles back into his own seat, a little winded himself.

“Look, I’m going to make this very clear to you. If I didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be around right now. And if I didn’t want to touch you I wouldn’t. So quit pretending you’re some little fucking spinster and get your ass over here before I have to drag you.”

“Oh,” Columbus manages, blinking slowly before scrambling across the seat, all elbows and awkward. Tallahassee grabs his hips as soon as they’re in reach and pulls him onto his lap easily, getting his legs firmly between Columbus’s thighs, and silently cursing bucket seats as he pulled him back down for another try at getting it right. This works a little better, because Columbus has got his hands firmly positioned on either side of Tallahassee’s face, which leaves Tallahassee’s hands free to travel to all sort of interesting places, gets one of them up under the kids shirt, slides his thumb across the soft skin it finds there, and the other one presses firmly into one of the kid’s thighs, kneading slightly, causing Columbus make interesting little noises into his mouth, the muscles of his stomach fluttering. Pulls away to breathe again and ends up moaning into Tallahassee’s neck when he is pulled closer. Tallahassee’s hands on his ass bring him forward until Columbus's knees end up wedged respectively between the seat and the door and the seat and the console. Then he presses into Tallahassee all need and want and please. Makes Tallahassee press his forehead into Columbus’s collar bone to catch his breath, hands sliding back up under the shirts again, certain that there are too many layers here. Only Columbus is like, fuck, impatient and grinds his hips into him, and Tallahassee’s hands get distracted, leaving the shirt pushes up half-way and abandoning their current job to venture back to the kid’s ass again, pulling him closer and grinding up in response, biting lightly at the small amount of bare skin the shirt isn’t covering, just below his neck, and Columbus is muttering into his ear and his own hands are finding their way around, under Tallahassee’s shirt and behind his back and he’s trying to get closer than was physically possible, so he growls at him again, “Hold on just a fucking second, okay?”

Gets his hand to the front of the kids hip and has his jeans undone in record time, while the kid watches all wide-eyed and breathless. Uses the other hand to encourage the him to kneel so he can get his pants slid down a little, and Columbus’s fingers dig into his back with just the slightest edge of panic. Tallahassee murmurs soothingly into the his chest and strokes him once, makes him basically double over with a sound like he’d been punched in the gut, one hand pressing down on his shoulder and trying to keep himself from collapsing. Tallahassee takes this time to get his own pants undone, has to lift his hips to get them off and the kid shakes against him as he presses up, and when he collapses back into his seat Columbus follows, gasping obscenities and gripping painfully into his arm. Tallahassee can’t be bothered to care, licks along the kid’s neck as he gets arm behind his back and pulls him closer until he can feel the kid hard against him, gets his other hand wrapped around them both and then slides up and Columbus is panting and whimpering and burying his face into Tallahassee’s neck, pushing against him, hands finally letting up a little pressure to slide back underneath his shirt, to pull his chest closer and leans his head back far enough to kiss him again, all open mouthed and messy and raw.

Tallahassee’s keeping a steady pace; ages of fucking practice making the kid come undone. One of Columbus’s hands winds its way down his back and across his stomach, brushing against his hip before gripping, hesitant, fingers nudged against Tallahassee’s, making his breath catch, and the man groan and scratch his back as he pushes. After that all bets are off and they’re both barely hanging onto the edge, pushing and grabbing and panting roughly, and Columbus is right fucking there, just at the edge, stuttering thrusts, uneven and barely controlled when he comes, panting open mouthed on Tallahassee’s neck, clinging desperately, and that sets Tallahassee off. He thrusts hard, hand still working, making Columbus twitch and shake and it doesn’t take long before he follows the kid into lah-lah land, presses his face under Columbus’s jaw, scrapes his teeth on the edge and tries to get his breath back.

“Hah,” Columbus finally manages, collapsed boneless against Tallahassee, both arms wrapped around his neck, “gosh.”

“Gosh?” Tallahassee’s hands are on the bare skin of his hips, thumbs rubbing little rhythmic circles as he tries to get his heart-rate back to normal. He’s sticky and sweaty and damp and really wishes he could care.

“Well, fuck, maybe.”


“My leg is cramping.”

And Tallahassee just laughs, shoulders shaking and grinning, asks, “Did someone forget to limber up?”


Good sexing but it was the last line that got me. LOL IRL!

And cross dressing porn never got put on LJ either so...
Columbus/Tallahassee, crossdressing; It was an absolute mistake to allow Little Rock and Wichita to play dress-up with him. He's not sure he wants to know where they found the panties.

It was a mistake.

His whole life was filled with them. In fact, almost all of the decisions he’d made through the course of his life could be written off as mistakes. There was that one time when he decided to, instead of going out for baseball, learn to play the tuba. There was his 13th birthday when he tried to kiss Jenny McFrancis, who, as it turned out, had a mean left hook. There was the day he decided to download Warcraft, and the time he decided to major in English. Those two weeks of Boy scouts. But this was pretty near the top of the list. To be fair, he’d just sort of stumbled into it. His best friend when he’d been little and still had friends had been the next door neighbor girl, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with this experience. However, it is important to note that some things are more acceptable when you’re five. More acceptable and less kinky, he was pretty sure.

But they’d ended up in this house, a big fucking thing because Tallahassee had a moral code, which didn’t contain many morals but seemed to require that he either go big or go home. Nut up or shut up. It was a nice place, and they’d found surprisingly little trouble when they cleaned it out. It was no Mansion Del Murray, but that only meant that there wasn’t any chance that Columbus would shoot anyone famous and beloved, so he wasn’t going to bitch. Tallahassee still hadn’t really forgiven him for that. The house had made him a little sad, at first, though. A family had lived there. A pretty pink bedroom, another in purple, one with pale blue walls. A master bedroom with a comfortable lived in feeling. They figured it out from the clues, the rooms and the pictures on the walls. Three sisters, a mom and a dad, a dog. Two cats, at least, maybe at different times. A cage in the youngest girl's room that probably had contained a hamster. Tallahassee’s eyes went cold when he’d seen the first picture, and he’d pushed it flat against the table, no one else mentioned it. After a bit, though, they got used to it. There was hot cocoa mix in the cupboards and a stock of gummy bears, there was even an unopened bag of Doritos and a pile of soda cases that impressed the lot of them. Wine in an honest to god wine rack, with dates and names and fancy little designs and fancy crackers.

So they’d settled in without too much trouble. Tallahassee had laid upside-down on the couch and played with a DS while Columbus ate and the girls raided closets. Eventually he got a call from upstairs, and though he considered ignoring it, there was an immediate follow up to the call, a sassy ‘don’t pretend you didn’t hear us’. He’d sighed long and stood up, unfolded his legs while Tallahassee called him a total bitch with a little snicker and obeyed.

The girls were upstairs, wearing new outfits with Charlie’s angel’s poses, model faces, too many accessories. He smiled at them, told them they looked great. Wichita explained that they’d gotten lucky. One of the girls had been her size; one of the others was Little Rock’s. It wasn’t all good, though, and she drew a face as she explained that the best clothes didn’t fit either of them.

“Really? But neither of you are, uh, you know,” realized he almost suggested that they were too big for some other girl’s clothes, flirting with danger, “I would think they’d fit someone.”

“Maybe,” Wichita answered, a little cryptically, grabbed his wrist. Little Rock giggled, uncharacteristically youthful sounding, like a real kid. It gave Columbus a bad feeling.

And he’d been right. The clothes were too big for either of them; the girl who owned them had been tall, far taller than either of the girls. The whole thing had come about rater unexpectedly, a hair band pushed through his curls. The happy, encouraging looks of the girls who’d become his family. He couldn’t help but appease them, they weren’t happy often enough. Which is how he ended up here; hair band still in place, tasteful makeup that Little Rock had scolded him for almost ruining, a shirt with a low neck and poofy sleeves that he’d been informed was “princess cut” (that’d almost stopped the entire process but unfortunately he hadn’t acted fast enough), a skirt, too, one that wasn’t nearly long enough he was sure made of a few thin, weightless layers with some sort of lacy pattern, and barefoot because as tall as this girl was she didn’t wear size twelve’s, and of course he was blushing all down his face and neck, and pretty sure his knees were blushing too. Embarrassed as all hell as Tallahassee stood in the doorway and gave him a surprised but otherwise inscrutable look, leaning against the doorframe with his eyes locked firmly on Columbus. Little Rock and Wichita shot each other looks, apparently deciding they were going to get into trouble if they stuck around and slipped by him, something about making dinner and seeyouguyssoonokaybye.

“What are you doing up here?” Columbus finally managed to ask, strangled sounding.

“You guys were up here for awhile, thought there mighta been trouble, and I was bored. Didn’t mean to interrupt your girl time.”

“Oh shut up,” Columbus snapped back, still totally red, grabbed the headband and pulled it off with both hands, slapping it down on the table and avoiding looking at the other man with laser-like force as he grabbed the edge of the stupid shirt, prepared to strip in front of someone (despite years of crippling locker-room anxiety) if it meant that he avoid further cross-dressing-based ridicule. Worked too well, actually, because he’d managed to completely miss how Tallahassee ended up directly in front of him, fingers latched around Columbus’s wrist like a vise, stopping him from pulling the shirt up. Columbus just about shit himself, because Tallahassee was right there looming and know your exit wasn’t helping him because there was a great big redneck between him and said escape route and Tallahassee had closed the door what the fuck.


“Problem?” Columbus managed to choke out, trying to take a step back and failing because there was a table there, gripping the edge of it with his unfettered hand and hoping that Tallahassee couldn’t feel him shaking.

“Not really,” he answered, looking completely untroubled as he kept his grip on Columbus’s right wrist and grabbed the left, pinning them both deftly against the table, all up in, if Columbus was capable of thinking this way, his grill, too close for comfort and distressingly cool, as if he did this shit every day. And Columbus recognized him as a predator, a lion.

“Oh, well then, maybe you could, uh, you know, uhm.”

“Nah,” Tallahassee shrugged, “got something better in mind.”

And apparently he did, because he slipped his leg in between Columbus’s without hesitation, pressed his body forward and bit at the bare expanse of Columbus’s neck.

“Ah! Uhm, what are you-“

“Shut up,” Tallahassee growled, let go of his wrists, which would have been a relief except that his hands found new occupation, sliding his fingers up Columbus’s skirt a couple of inches, making him gasp, before sliding them back down and hooking under his thighs, hoisting him smoothly up onto the table (it was a Vanity, he thought. Stupid thought! Who gave a fuck!). And his hands stayed on his thighs and his thumbs ran teasing little circles while he bit and kissed at the bare skin under Columbus’s ear, and suddenly it became ever so clear that Tallahassee had a thing for this. Whatever this was.

“Uhm, Tallahassee?”

A low growl, pulled back enough to give Columbus a look, annoyed, impatient, “What?”

And Columbus was struck speechless for a moment, because he realized that even though Tallahassee was wearing a pretty typical expression for him, he had a blush running across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheekbone and his breath was unsteady and his hands on Columbus’s thighs were shaking ever so slightly and, fuck, “I’m sitting on a hairbrush.”

Tallahassee sighed, exasperated roll of his eyes, and stepped back enough to let Columbus adjust himself, move the shit he was sitting on and get his arms into something like a comfortable position. And Columbus didn’t object when he stepped forward again and slipped his fingers up under his shirt, just made a little noise and dug his fingers into the man’s arms and tried to breathe deeply. Didn’t work too well, because Tallahassee shifted his mouth to meet Columbus’s and kissed him, fingers moving up onto his chest, over his side, down to the curve of his back to pull him forward again. Slid his hands out from under the shirt and down the skirt, pushed up again and swore roughly, “Fuck kid, really?”

“Don’t ask,” Columbus panted slightly, would have blushed if he wasn’t already red-faced, and buried his face in Tallahassee’s neck so he didn’t have to see the look on the man’s face, because yeah, really, panties. The boxers were too long, couldn’t put the skirt on over them, could he? It made sense at the time. God stupid stupid.

“Fuck,” Tallahassee groaned into his ear again, apparently he didn’t mind, pushed the skirt up far enough to slip his fingers over the top of the panties, pulled them down, Columbus whimpering at the slide of fabric and shift of temperature, surprised himself because he was sure he should be able to get hard when he was this embarrassed as Tallahassee worked on leaving a mark on his shoulder, all suction and wet. Dug his face out of Tallahassee’s neck without much prompting, not surprised by how rough the whole thing was, at how their teeth occasionally bumped uncomfortably and how his nose pressed firm. Pulled apart to breath and Tallahassee’s hand left him momentarily, the other one pressing into his stomach and burying his nose in Columbus’s hair, breath hot in his ear. The hand was back, and Columbus had to gasp and cold, slippery fingers got under his skirt fast, probing and seeking, finding what they were looking for and Columbus had to throw his arms around Tallahassee’s neck and hide his face in them, swallowing hard, remembering the fucking lotion, and he was going to smell like spring fucking flowers again because, god, Tallahassee had over-long, talented fingers that pursued their goal without mercy, pushing deep, stretching and curving and finding what they were looking for so hard that Columbus had to bite his arm to stop himself from yelling, pretty sure he didn’t want Wichita and Little Rock to come running. Realized that, besides the panties, he and Tallahassee were still fully dressed, and wasn’t that just some kind of dirty. Moaned into his arms as Tallahassee kept at him, protested slightly when he pulled out and it was embarrassing but it made Tallahassee swear, all barely controlled and hot. And Tallahassee pulled back slightly, which broke Columbus’s embrace, made him realize that Tallahassee wasn’t quite as clothed as he had thought, made him more nervous, eyes flickering to the man’s too-pale ones. Breathed deep once before Tallahassee was close again, pulled Columbus forward, pushed his legs up slightly, silent encouragement as he pressed forward, licking long the edge of Columbus’s jaw, hot, slick pressure and trying to breath, half-hiccupped and wrapped his legs around him, fingers digging hard into Tallahassee’s shoulder blades. Whimpered as Tallahassee forced his way in.

“Fuck Ohio, fuck,” licked his neck again, pushed deeper, and Columbus agreed silently, pulling himself closer to Tallahassee, could feel the very edge of the table, dangerous close as Tallahassee pressed flush against him and sighed.

Columbus bit his lip, felt the burn and stretched and it was strange but it wasn’t bad. It hurt a bit, but it was also a little great, a strange balance. But then Tallahassee’s hand was on his dick and suddenly it seemed more than a little great, tightened his legs and swore as Tallahassee pushed into him, fucked him on the table, on hand stroking him long and slow and the other digging into his upper thigh, bruising by inches as he fought for closeness, and Columbus clung to him like he would fall, gasping as Tallahassee urged him on with teeth and tongue, found what he was looking for and pressed harder and faster and less even, heat curling and knotting in Columbus’s stomach, scratching Tallahassee’s back as he scrambled against him, so fucking close, gasped for air and Tallahassee kissed him hard, eyes shut tight and twisted his wrist and lost his rhythm and bit his lip, came hard and Columbus couldn’t help but make a little noise, grind forward, ruin the nice girl’s clothes pretty thoroughly.

Tallahassee pulled back, just enough, and Columbus collapsed against him, gulping in mouthfuls of air and shaking slightly. Tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed adequate, “Fuck me.”

“Yeah, well, you were fighting dirty.”

Laughed, shaky. Made it back downstairs in his own clothes eventually, and Wichita and Little Rock saw the cut on his lip and a bruise on the wrist that peeked out from under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. They shot Tallahassee a dirty look which he ignored, under the impression that they’d gotten in a fight.

Probably better they thought that. They really didn’t need to know the truth. Ever. They also didn’t need to know about the skirt tucked into Columbus’s bag. Or the panties.

holy fuck how did i miss this

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